


Equilibrium

by Okyptos



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28192941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okyptos/pseuds/Okyptos
Summary: [MANGA SPOILERS] Last thing Izuku remembered was Tomura wreaking havoc upon Jaku City as the second wielder of All For One. He never expected to wake up in a world where Quirks did not exist and vampires roamed free. Now, how the hell can he find his way back? Vampire Diaries/My Hero Academia Crossover. No Vampire Diaries knowledge is required to read this.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

Izuku's eyes struggled to flutter open as his brain tried to regain some measure of its consciousness. Even before he regained his gift of sight, his body throbbed all over with nauseating pain.

He could vividly hear a faint beeping sound directly above his head. He definitely recognized it since he was a frequent visitor of the infirmary back at U.A. The steady beating of the heart rate monitor assured him that he was in no danger of succumbing to his wounds anytime soon. The type of pain that Izuku felt also confirmed for him that the wounds were self-inflicted with overuse of his inherited Quirk.

All of a sudden, it all came crashing down on him. His eyes flew open and immediately became bombarded with an immense amount of light from the non-existent blindfolds in his room. His eyes rebelled against him and tried to revert to their previous state to prevent the ever-growing headache he could feel.

The last thing Izuku remembered was the ruins of Jaku City, compliments of Tomura Shigaraki. The second-ever wielder of _All For One_ had spectacularly displayed his newly acquired power in such a fashion that would even make his predecessor jealous. Singlehandedly overpowering the strongest of the heroes was a feat that not many could have a claim to.

Worst of all? Izuku had tried to put him down. He really did. He tried to attack him relentlessly while using _One For All_ beyond his personal limits, even landing quite a few of his blows. But it all seemed hopeless in the end since Tomura just kept shaking it off whether it be with his healing abilities or just pure strength granted to him by _All For One_. The ninth wielder could not understand how the power cultivated and groomed by generations of past heroes for this exact purpose could fail.

 _'Probably because I am still not at the level of proficiency that All Might was. At the rate that I am advancing, I most likely will not be for a while...'_ Izuku thought miserably. Even Gran Torino had stated his mentor had been blessed with an extremely resilient body, despite being born Quirkless. This and his natural talent allowed him to be able to control and focus his power on any extremity he chose without recoil. But according to the history of the origin and nature of the Quirk _One For All,_ each successive generation should stockpile more power, thus making the future wielder more powerful compared to the previous one. Was this also the reason why he could utilize the Quirks of the Fifth and Seventh users?

The situation was looking really dire even before the revelation of Dabi's real identity. Endeavor was already at his breaking point from overusing his Quirk in order to fight Tomura and the multiple _Noumus that plagued the area_. To make matters worse, the abomination named _Gigantomachia_ had made its way to their battlefield while causing devastation and totaling an impressive number of casualties along the way. The unexpected revelation that his firstborn was in fact a part of the _League of Villains_ and hated him with passion must have been a deplorable experience for the Number One Hero.

The sudden arrival of the _Fiber Hero: Best Jeanist_ had undoubtedly turned the battle in their favor. Restricting _Gigantomachia_ was perhaps the window of opportunity that the heroes sought. Even if the initial attempt at restricting the great beast was successful, Best Jeanist had struggled immensely while trying to maintain the restriction.

 _'But what happened after that?'_ The green-haired boy asked himself. Whatever the impact of the new arrival was, Izuku could not recall.

 _'Did I pass out? Is the battle over? Where is everyone?'_ The ninth holder of _One For All_ bombarded himself with his questions but eventually realized the futility of his monologue. He would just have to wait for someone to come check upon him. In the meantime, he chose to analyze his body. To his bewilderment, aside from the pain that usually accompanied his wounds, he only saw the scarred and burned skin of his arms and his oversized hospital gown. He was sure that he had trashed himself up pretty nicely while attempting to battle Shigaraki. His face then relaxed slightly with realization.

 _'Of course. Recovery Girl probably worked her magic on me. I wonder how many sloppy kisses it took this time though..."_ Izuku tried not to wince. The aged healer had been his savior in many of his previous stunts over his first year at U.A. Whatever he might feel about her methods, the results she achieved were nothing short of miraculous.

His instincts honed by many months of Pro Hero training and the actual taste of combat against numerous villains picked up the approaching footsteps towards his door. After a couple of seconds, the doorknob twisted and a nurse entered. Or what he presumed was a nurse.

The lady did wear a distinct color of white associated with many hospitals all around the world. If Izuku learned anything, it was that he should always pay attention to every detail he could set his gaze on. This lesson was all the more valuable to him since the day he let Eri run back to the manipulative monster that was _Overhaul._ Even though she was safe now, he still blamed himself for not acting on the clear distress signals that he got from her that day.

The first thing he noticed was that the attire was familiar to the ones he saw in the fair share of hospitals that he was a patient in, but different nonetheless. The nursing cap was slightly taller and she wore pants of the same color. From his experience, the nurses that attended to him always wore some kind of a maxi skirt. The next thing he noticed was her face. Having grown up in a world where above 80% of the population had some type of Quirk, the number of people that had a Heteromorphic-type Quirk was high. One of the examples was his own classmate Shoji with his extra arms and Mina with her pink skin. But the facial structure of the Japanese people was naturally different from the one that was before him, that much he was sure of.

 _'She is not Japanese, that much is clear.'_ Izuku thought. The blonde hair and blue eyes definitely hinted at some kind of Caucasian descent.

"Well then, look who is awake. How are you feeling sweetheart?" uttered the nurse.

Izuku's eyebrows receded up into his hairline after hearing her talk. English was still the preferred language all over the world, but not usually the one spoken in Japan. In order to encourage international cooperation amongst the Hero Community, learning English was an unwritten requirement for everyone. Even some of the lectures at U.A were held in English, like by _Present Mic_ for example.

"I am feeling okay ma'am. Thank you for checking up on me." Izuku responded while trying to hold back a wince at his accent. He would definitely have to work on his pronunciation in the future.

"Let me just notify Dr. Whittaker. He will be with you in a minute." Reacting with an almost amused smirk, which was probably due to his awful attempt at English, the gentle-looking lady responded.

Before Izuku could even begin to formulate an apt response, the nurse left the room. The Hero trainee began to assess his situation once again with his newfound information.

' _Dr. Whittaker? Yet another name that is foreign. Where am I exactly? And where are my personal belongings? I should call my Mom and All Might to inform them that I am okay. They must be worried sick...'_ Thinking to himself, he started to look around the room for anything that might be his. Funnily enough, the white room was almost empty excluding the medical equipment and a chair at the far side at the corner.

The doorknob twisted for the second time since he awoke and entered a man wearing a white coat over a neatly ironed shirt with a sharp tie and a folder tucked under his arm. Giving him an easy smile, the doctor went to the far side of the room to retrieve the only chair and pulled it near his bedside, and sat down. Opening the folder, he began to speak.

"You were looking pretty disheveled when you were brought in, kiddo. We initially thought that you were either attacked by an animal or hit by some kind of a vehicle when we assessed your torn attires. Nice costume, by the way, you into larping and stuff?" Continued Dr. Whittaker while his eyes never left the folder in his hands.

Anything that Izuku might have felt like saying died in his throat. What was up with this line of questioning? And what was "larping"?

"Excuse me, sir, I do not understand what you are asking me. I suppose I was rushed here after the battle was over? Where are the other heroes that got treatment? Do you know where Kacchan is? Sorry, i mean Katsuki Bakugou." Began Izuku. He felt pretty bad for not recalling that the situation that his friend was last in was disastrous. Taking the hits intended for him with the stolen Quirk _Rivet Stab_ by _All For One_ Bakugo had gone down for the count. His eyes watered at the thought.

"Wow, kid slow down. What battle are you talking about? Other heroes? And I am pretty sure that no one under the name _Kacchan_ is currently in our care. You must either be a really hardcore fan of that fantasy stuff or you just play too many video games. As a father of a 13-year old myself, I understand where you are coming from." Responded the doctor. Closing the file, he continued.

"Aside from the fact that your costume was all banged up, we didn't really find any injuries. Of course, that does not explain the fact of how you have so many scars all over your arms, chest, and back area, including a pretty nasty burn mark on your right arm. Wanna begin by explaining those?" Now his attention was completely on Izuku, the brown-hued eyes focusing intently.

Midoriya opened his mouth to respond, but nothing would come out. Staring dumbly at the medical professional, he closed it. His face became blank. His mind, however, was going into overdrive.

This didn't make any sense. How could they not know about the devastation that was wrought by the villains? And fantasy video games? What the hell was going on? Where was Kacchan? The other heroes? Perhaps an easier question would be asking about his whereabouts.

"Where am I currently sir? Am I still in Jaku City? Is this Jaku General Hospital?" Izuku blurted out, desperately hoping for an affirmative answer.

" _Jaccu_ City? Are you okay kid? We did check your vitals for any blunt-force induced trauma to the head but we did not detect anything. You are currently in Lumber Springs, just a few miles outside of New Orleans, this is North Oak General and my name is George Whittaker." Dr. Whittaker responded and his eyes betrayed a small amount of ever-growing annoyance and a relative amount of confusion.

"What? New Orleans? As in New Orleans in _A-A-A-America_?" Stuttered Izuku while trying to calm himself down, yet his mind and nerves would not cooperate. What the hell was he doing in the United States? Why would he be moved to a _foreign country_ just to get medical treatment?

"Is there a New Orleans somewhere in Africa that I do not know about?" Retorted Dr. Whittaker with a raised eyebrow.

"Huh? Why was I even moved here? How long have I been out? Or better yet, what date is it?" Trying to squash down an immense feeling of dread pooling up at the bottom of his stomach, Izuku frantically tried to express his questions.

"You have been out for about 7 hours now ever since you were brought to us. Sadly I do not know how long u were unconscious before that. As for the date, it's currently 6th of May, 2007. Does that answer your questions? Kid, are you okay?" The doctor told him but at the end of his answer, he was on his feet. The reason for his sudden activity was that the child in front of him had gone stiff as a board, all color draining from his face.

' _What? What is he talking about? How could it be 2007 when he was born at the beginning of the 23rd century?'_ The mind of the green-haired boy was threatening to shut down from the incredible amount of illogical information he was receiving. Why the hell would the doctor tell him that he was in the 21st century? But even then, the young hero managed to utter a response so powerful, it would even make the greatest of poets jealous.

"Ha?"


	2. Chapter 2

**The Doctor**

Dr. med. George Winston Whittaker was looking forward to a great day. He woke up at 6:55, an exact 5 minutes before his alarm clock started to make its presence known. Rubbing his eyes, he disabled the alarm feature in order to spare his partner waking up earlier than she had to. Like on every other workday, he rolled over to the side of his wife, Margaret, and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. Even though she was still fast asleep, a graceful smile found its way onto her face. That was all the reward he could ask for.

As for his second activity for the day he made his way to the bathroom to freshen himself up. After having shaving and having a short but energizing cold shower, he applied his aftershave. Returning to the bedroom, he opened the wardrobe to find a perfectly ironed shirt, complete with pants and a very clean looking medical overcoat. Appreciating his wife and her amazing household skills, he dressed quietly to avoid waking her. Completing his outfit with a sharp tie, he exited his bedroom into the short corridor.

Directly at the end of it, he saw the newest feature of the month, a door with a bright-red sticker with the label "ENTRY WITHOUT OFFICIAL CLEARANCE DENIED". Delightfully ignoring it, he strolled right into the room and made his way to the window. Drawing the curtains to the side, he let the room be bathed in the early sun rays of the second weekend day.

Immediately, an annoyed moan came out of the bed. His 13-year old son Walter always hated getting woken up early on a weekend, but he had baseball practice today and George knew that he would never hear the end of it if it was somehow missed. Walking over to his only child, he gave him a short peck on the forehead and tried to wake him up.

"Good morning Babe Ruth, ready for today?" Ruffling the curly locks at the top of Walter's head, he continued.

"Daddy is going to fix you a quick breakfast and drive you to the park. Don't wanna be late now, do we?" Teasing him was just a little _too_ easy. George always took advantage of it.

Walters brown eyes immediately shot open and he bolted right out of his bed. Trying to regain his bearings, he looked for his uniform frantically. As panic began to replace the joy he felt when he initially woke up, his father began chuckling.

"Try the wardrobe champ. Get dressed and come down to the kitchen, will ya?" Still sporting a smile, George made his way downstairs. The kitchen was in pristine condition, compliments of his wife. Taking out a bowl, he filled it with his son's favorite cereal and went to the fridge to take out the milk. Hearing frantic footsteps, he glanced at the kitchen door just in time to see Walter fly through and position himself on the kitchen stool.

After Walter finished his cereal, George told him to go put on his shoes while he took the car out of the garage. Walter hopped in the car and they were on their way. Dropping his son off at the park, he drove to the hospital to begin his shift. He was glad for the extra hours on this Sunday because he would have very much liked to afford the gift he intended to buy his wife for their 17th anniversary at the end of this month.

Working as a pediatrician had its perks. Ever since he was a teenager, George had loved taking care of kids. He supposed it had something to do with the summer jobs he took to watch over the neighbor's kids way back in the day. Pediatricians provided care during the critical period of life. They also deal with all aspects of children's health and well-being, including young people's physical, mental, development, and psychosocial health. Helping children, positively influencing the youth, and receiving a wide smile was all the reward he could ask for.

3 hours into his shift, George decided to take a small break. He asked if his pediatric nurse, Sharon, would accompany him. Grabbing 2 cups of coffee from the cafeteria, they exited the hospital building and sat down on a bench to enjoy the nice day.

"Never imagined it would be this calm on a Sunday. Is it always like this?" George began.

"Why the hell do you think I prefer weekend shifts?" An amused Sharon replied.

Snorting with disbelief and amusement, George took a sip of his coffee. He was about to respond when he heard the sound of a car engine. An old, clunky pickup truck sped into the front entrance of the hospital building. As soon as he came within an acceptable distance of the entrance, the truck's tires screeched in an attempt to come to a halt.

"Woah, isn't that Mr. McCoy?" Asked Sharon, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah..." Responded George, not being used to the elderly man speeding. What was going on? Paul McCoy exited his pickup truck in a hurry, trying to get to the passenger side. George noticed that he wore his old flannel shirt, his wool pants littered with wood residue. He winced slightly.

' _Not again...'_ He thought.

Reaching the passenger door of his worn-out truck, Paul opened it. After reaching in, he struggled to take out something. The color green came into view.

"Wait is that a person?" Asked Sharon suddenly, setting her cup down on the bench.

"What?" Replied George, getting to his feet, and started to walk towards Paul. Upon arriving, what he saw made his heart skip a beat.

A teenager, 15 or 16 years old at the most, was unconscious. Worse, his green attire seemed to be tattered and stained with blood. George's instincts and medical training kicked into action.

"Sharon, get me a stretcher. Tell Cassie to prepare an emergency room. Now!" Heart beating wildly and mind in a frenzy, George tried to remain calm. This kid in front of him was a few years older than his son at the most and seeing his current state sent a shiver up his spine.

'This could have been Walter...' Thought George. But as soon as the thought came, he brushed it away. No matter if this young man was not his son, he must still be someone's child. So it was his duty to try his best to save him.

After the stretcher arrived, they loaded the unconscious kid onto it and rushed him to the emergency room. Cassie was already there, preparing the oxygen concentrator. As soon as they positioned the stretcher, he grabbed the blanket upon which the patient was lying, and with the help of his colleagues, they transferred him to the bed. Placing the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, George checked the vitals.

"Get rid of those clothes on him," George ordered, wanting to take a closer look at his new patient. Since his attire was already torn up in many places, Cassie tried to remove it with her bare hands. After trying for a good few seconds, she gave up.

"Jesus, what is this stuff made of?" Cassie responded.

"Just grab the trauma shears, Cassie, we're on a clock here." Dr. Whittaker retorted, being in full medical professional mode.

The brunette nurse nodded and grabbed the shears and tried to cut open the fabric. Still, the clothing resisted. Cassie could not cut her way through.

"The shears don't work!" Remarked the nurse. George shot her a bewildered look. Noticing that the "onesie" was torn at the shoulder, he decided to just force it to come off through his torso by pulling it down. All the young man was left with were some black colored boxers. While George worked on the vitals, Sharon began to clean the wounds.

As she scrubbed with a gauze sponge, she noticed something. As the blood was cleaned, the skin underneath was not at all injured as they expected it to be.

"Is the blood not his?" Cassie asked, noticing.

"Seems like it. He does not seem to be injured in any way. But these scars and this burn mark look nasty. They are, however, not recent." Sharon responded.

George listened and finished checking the vitals and assessed the situation. The patient was not in a critical condition as he initially thought. Still, he could see signs of fatigue and distress all over his body and face. He took off his gloves and turned to the nurses.

"Please clean him up and place him in a room to rest. He is not in any immediate danger. We will let him rest and see if he wakes up. If he does not, we will need to perform a second diagnosis. Report to me when you are done." After seeing two nods, he exited the emergency room. Immediately after doing so, he came face to face with Paul.

"Dr. Whittaker, how is he? Is he okay?" Paul asked. It was very clear that he was worried.

"Don't worry Mr. McCoy, he is fine. The blood does not belong to him. That still does not explain who it actually belongs to. What the hell happened to that kid?" George responded with questions of his own.

"That is a relief..." Replied Paul, letting out a breath that even he didn't know he was holding. Then, he continued.

"Honestly, I have no idea. I was walking around on our old property at Lodger Forest when I came upon him. He was just lying there, all battered and bloodied. I do not know how I managed to carry him to the truck and rush here. I don't know how he got there either." Paul finished, still looking quite disheveled.

"Take a seat, Paul, he will be fine. He just needs to rest a bit. We will find out exactly what happened." Assured George. Paul had always been a family friend and very close with his own father since they grew up together. Paul's son, John, was, in turn, George's best friend growing up.

After assuring Paul a bit more, he finally sat down and opted to wait. George took out his phone and opened the favorite Contacts tab. Choosing his wife's number, he pressed "Dial".

"Hey there, honey. Listen, can you pick up Walter from his baseball practice today? I have this new patient that came in today and I would really like to figure out what the hell his deal is." George said.

"Of course. Is everything okay?" Asked Margaret, her voice tinted with worry.

"Yeah, don't sweat it. Everything is fine. I will tell you all about it when I get home, okay? Love you, honey, take care." George finished with and hung up the phone.

Now, all he had to do was wait for his patient to wake up and he would get all his answers.

* * *

"Ha?"

George was already on his feet. Taking out his slit lamp, he checked the pupils of the green-haired boy for anisocoria. After making sure that the pupil sizes were equal, he tried to stimulate some kind of a response by tapping the young man on the face and talking to him.

The patient suddenly started to struggle to intake air, his breaths becoming short and the pace uneven. Sweat started to form all over his face, his body trembling uncontrollably. Using his stethoscope, George tried to measure the heart rate through his back. Alarmed to hear that his heart was pounding rapidly, he came to the conclusion that his patient was having a panic attack.

"Kid, I'm gonna need you to calm down. You are having a panic attack." George said. But before he could say anything else, the young man fell back onto the bed, unconscious.

* * *

**The Ninth Holder**

Izuku regained his consciousness for the second time that day. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with an unexpected sight. The ceiling, or what he supposed was the ceiling, was pitch black. He was lying on a stony floor instead of the soft mattress from before. Standing up, he noticed that parts of his body were covered by a black mist-like substance. Taking a look around, except for a couple of cubic meters of ground, he did not see anything else.

'Wait, I have been here before...' Thought Izuku. Realising that this was the plane of existence where he met the previous holders of _One For All_ and the place where the recent encounter with the 2 holders of _All For One_ briefly occured. Oddly enough, this time only about half of his body was covered, leaving most of his chest area and mouth open. Choosing to stand up, Izuku tried to regain his bearings.

"Didn't expect to see you here again so soon." Came a voice from behind him. Turning around, he saw the owner of it.

Nana Shimura, the Seventh Holder, stood there with a playful smirk on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the short chapters. I promise that the next ones will be longer.
> 
> Feel free to drop a review to let me know what you think. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Ninth Holder**

Nana Shimura, the Seventh Holder of the Quirk known as _One For All_ stood before him. For all he had heard and read about her from his own mentor, Izuku had never really paid any attention to how she actually looked like. The woman before her was All Might's mentor and a supposedly mother-figure, not to mention a previous Holder. Even Gran Torino, who was as obstinate and stubborn as it really got, had only spoken positively about her.

Izuku could only describe her as beautiful, albeit with a tough demeanor. She was fairly tall, yet possessed a slender yet voluptuous frame, and at the same time, she was well-built, as befitting a _One For All_ user. Her fair skin, complimented by the small mole below her bottom lip, centered to the right, and sharp, intelligent eyes with long eyelashes only served to further compliment her outer appearance.

Oddly enough, she was still garbed in her Hero costume, consisting of a dark, sleeveless bodysuit with a high collar, yellow elbow-length gloves, and white knee-high boots. A belt with an angular golden buckle was wrapped around her waist, a small cape attached around the back which hung down to her knees, and over her shoulders was a longer cape, buttoned to the shoulders of her bodysuit. Izuku wondered if the state of dress of the previous Holders depended on how they looked like before they passed on the power stockpiling Quirk.

' _A question for another day...'_ thought Izuku. Just as he was about to respond to his predecessor's comment, she beat him to the punch.

"So, out with it. I know that you want to bombard me with questions. Let's hear it." replied Nana, before crossing her arms and her smirk turning playful.

Izuku's ears turned red, his eyes widening slightly before shifting his gaze to the ground, avoiding eye contact. But after a hearty chuckle from the present company, he decided to try his luck.

Rubbing the back of his head and biting his lower lip uncertainly, he began. "Miss Shimura, how is it that I am able to talk to you? Or move at all in this plane? During our last brief encounter, I could achieve neither."

It was a valid question, Izuku thought. During all the previous times he had found himself in this vestige world, his speech and movement were extremely restricted, as he was only allowed to bear witness and try to interpret what _One For All_ was letting him see. Before he could receive an answer, however, he realized his fatal mistake.

Eyes widening in distress, he shook his hands in front of himself frantically, trying to form a sentence. "I am so sorry! How would you like me to refer to you? Miss Nana? Miss Shimura? Or would you prefer your Hero name? How can I be so carel-"

A firm, comforting hand came to rest atop his crown, giving his green-tinted locks a playful ruffle. Glancing at his predecessor, he was glad to see a smile that would most certainly rival that of All Might's.

' _So that's where he got it from...'_ mused Izuku, also smiling unconsciously.

After retracting her hand, Nana answered. "Man, no wonder Yagi likes you. Aren't you a bundle of jittery and jumpy stuff?"

Izuku could only widen his awkward smile and nod, still embarrassed.

Putting a hand to her chin, the Seventh Holder continued. "Well, you can comfortably address me as Nana, I don't mind. As for your other questions, I am afraid you will not relish the answers." Her hand came off of her chin, resting at her hip and her playful demeanor changed into something serious.

"You first have to understand that we, the previous Holders of _One For All_ are not _here._ We can be described as vestiges, a trace or a remnant of something bygone. Our quirk is ever-evolving, meaning that each Holder leaves a part of them in it for the future generations. But you knew that already," after receiving a slight nod from Izuku, she continued. "This vestige world is the plane of existence where we are within _One For All._ Since you are still very much alive and well, it is only natural that you should be restricted in here, both with physical activities and mental ones. Meaning you cannot stay here indefinitely."

Izuku never in his life wanted anything more than to have a recorder with him right now. The information he was receiving was like an undiscovered goldmine.

Nana's eyes briefly shone with relief. "That is the reason why Yagi is almost non-existent here. I would prefer to keep it that way for a long while." A smile found its way onto her face.

Nana continued with her lecture. "While it completely depends on the Holder, the general rule is that the more proficient and adapted to your Quirk you are, the better you can manage yourself inside _One For All._ Since you were able to comfortably access your Quirk at almost 50%, you were granted more freedom."

Izuku immediately opened his mouth, ready to beg for clarification. But Nana held up her hand.

Lowering it, she continued. "The last time you were here, you were not able to speak, true. There is something else that you should know. Even though we are only vestiges of someone dead, we still _exist_ within the current Holder, thus being able to access thoughts, perceive and feel everything that is going around you. We may also choose to interfere within any given moment, as you experienced in your little bout with the young man with the _Brainwashing_ Quirk," Nana smirked. "Think of it as your own personal backup. We have decided to grant you the ability to speak to us and even move around, even though you are not yet at 100%." She finished, not at all looking exhausted or worn out.

Just as Nana was about to continue, Izuku received a light smack against the back of his head.

"What the hell, kiddo? How come you ain't even at 100% and you have the _audacity_ to try taking on _All For One_? You braindead or something?" Retorted Daigoro Banjo, better known as _Lariat,_ the Fifth Holder of _One For All._

Unthinkingly, Izuku began to chuckle whilst rubbing the back of his head. His brief encounter with the owner of _Blackwhip_ had left him with the impression that he was not at all humble and quite energetic and funky.

Despite being a large muscular man of a wide build, he seemed to be pretty relaxed. His Hero costume consisted of dark leather clothes, goggles, and a bandolier. The leather jacket had shoulder pads, and his torso was left wide open to display its muscular structure. He had a square jaw, small eyes, and weirdly enough, no eyebrows. He was also very, _very_ bald.

Almost as if he could read Izuku's mind, Daigoro shouted. "What was that, you punk? Do you think you're clever? Being bald was all the rage back in the day!" His teary eyes gave him away, though.

Izuku could not hold it in any longer, he burst out laughing. Eventually, Nana joined him. Not seeing any other way out, the Fifth Holder also let his amusement get the better of him and joined in on the action. After a couple of minutes, the laughter eventually subsided and Izuku began to speak.

"I am very sorry for acting rashly and without considering the consequences. My friend had gotten injured and I let my wrath consume me. Please accept my apology!" Izuku managed to get out, lowering his head in shame. "If _One For All_ had been stolen, all hope of ever managing to defeat _All For One_ would have been lost. I realize that now..."

Just as he was about to proceed, Daigoro interrupted him. Leaning on Izuku's shoulder, he declared, "Eh, don't sweat it. It's not like we did any better. Except for Nana's student, each and every one of us almost lost our Quirk and managed to save it with the skin of our teeth. So, keep your head up and stop sulking. You are still young and have a lot to learn. Luckily for you, your great predecessor Daigoro Banjo, _Lariat will help you along the way._ " He finished and Izuku felt a lot better about himself.

After a light cough from behind him, the Fifth Holder added quickly, "Ahem and all the others, of course."

"Besides, you do not have to worry about anyone stealing your Quirk, Izuku." Came a calm, kind voice from the shadows. All three Holders turned to the direction from whence it came and were surprised by the sudden arrival. The First Holder came out, his expression one of tranquility. At his presence, Izuku noticed, the Seventh and the Fifth Holders had gone silent.

Still smiling, the First Holder continued, "As dear Nana so kindly explained, we can decide if we want to intervene or not. As long as we decide to continue remaining in you, so it shall be," His smile suddenly widened, "That is also the reason why your dear friend did not receive _One For All_ , your compassion and the willingness to sacrifice yourself and everything you held dear in order to save someone convinced us that you should remain the Holder. Do not be discouraged, young Midoriya."

Izuku's cheeks and ears burned as he suddenly found the floor very interesting to gaze at. Still, he wished to express his true feelings.

Taking a deep breath, Izuku responded, "Even though I was not, and still am not the best candidate for this amazing power, I promise to you that I will learn, grow and get better. I will become a Holder that you can be proud of!"

This prompted a smile from all of the present Holders, from which Nana decided to respond, " _One For All_ is not intended for the strongest, bravest or the most brilliant of the Heroes. It should be wielded by someone with an unyielding sense of willingness to protect and preserve the innocent, to never give up in the face of even absolute defeat, and to continue paving a path to a better future. Do not despair, Izuku, for you are just as worthy as All Might was."

Hearing these words, Izuku could no longer endure it. He fell to his knees and wept openly. The tears of joy spilled freely, every one of his doubts that nagged at his mind instantly vaporized. "Thank you! Thank you so much!" He finished weakly. Wiping away his joyful tears, he rose once again, as the proud Ninth Holder.

After waiting and witnessing patiently, the First Holder continued, "There used to be another reason in the past for not choosing the supposed best candidate," his eyes snapped shut, "my brother was an indescribable terror, all-powerful with no one and nothing to oppose him. If _One For All_ had been transferred to someone who was in the spotlight, he would have immediately known and hunted them down. I realized this at the end of my time. If I wanted to have any realistic chances at nurturing this power, I had to ensure that until it was strong enough, I had to choose wisely. Remember this, young Midoriya, because you too, will one day choose. There are qualities beyond the physical that are worthy of being considered. That is the reason why All Might chose you. Why _we_ chose you."

Daigoro continued the speech, "Not every generation had the direct purpose of defeating _All For One._ Most of us had the intention of preserving and nurturing it, to strengthen it as much as we could before passing it on. It was the case for my mentor, as was his predecessor's. I was also aware of the fact that I would not be able to vanquish our foe. I think the same train of thought applies to Shimura."

Recognizing her cue, Nana nodded, "That's right. I knew that my generation would not be the one to put an end to it, so I entrusted it to Yagi. I knew that he would succeed where we all had failed." Her eyes betrayed nothing but pride and trust in her student.

Izuku placed his hand on his chin, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, "Although All Might did manage to defeat _All For One,_ he managed to transfer it to his own successor, your grandson. Does that mean that we are back where we started?" As soon as he said those words, regret overwhelmed him. "I am sorry Nana! I did not mean to..." Unable to continue his sentence, Izuku closed his mouth.

Nana's eyes flashed with pain and regret before she closed them, "The fault is mine alone, Izuku." Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned to see that it belonged to Daigoro, a comforting smile on his face. Raising her own hand to give it a grateful squeeze, she continued.

"No, we are not back where we started. The reason for that is _you._ You have something that none of us, let alone _All For One,_ could predict. You have the ability to use the Quirks of your predecessors. Given enough time, you will reach a level none of us even dreamed of, Izuku." She finished.

The Fifth Holder joined in, "Since my Quirk was the first one you manifested, that just means that it's the coolest. Hah!" Proclaimed Daigoro proudly.

Nana raised an elegant eyebrow, a challenging smirk gracing her features, "What is a glorified climbing rope compared to the ability to fly?"

Before Daigoro could continue their banter, Izuku chipped in, "Your Quirks are all so amazing!" Noticing the bewildered looks from the Fifth and the Seventh Holders, he continued, "I never imagined myself using such an awesome Quirk such as _Blackwhip_! It is so versatile and can really be used in every given situation! And _Float_ is probably one of the coolest Quirks I have ever read about! Even though my brief usage was during the battle with Tomura, I still enjoyed it very much! Thank you both!" Finished the Ninth holder, eyes shining with admiration.

Chuckling slightly, the First Holder decided to express his opinion, "Your ability to make use of two very unique quirks in the heat of battle is quite impressive, young Midoriya. You even went as far as using _One For All_ at 100% while maintaining both _Blackwhip_ and _Float_ ," he gazed at both of his successors, "I am convinced that both Nana and Daigoro are delighted at this development."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Izuku tried to keep his mouth shut to prevent himself from asking another question that was nagging at his mind. However, his thoughts were betrayed to his predecessors by the vestige world and the nature of _One For All_.

"Go ahead, ask," Encouraged the First Holder curiously.

Midoriya twiddled his thumbs, "I do not want to give the impression that I am greedy or anything, but are there more Quirks of the previous Holders that I will manifest? If so, what are they? But I am perfectly content with _Blackwhip_ and Float!" He added quickly upon seeing the stink-eye Daigoro was giving him, but his eyes could not keep the overflowing interest at bay.

Turning his head to face the direction of Nana, the younger brother reminded Izuku of the earlier conversation between him and her, "Even though we have granted you the ability to interact with us, not every rule can be bent or broken. You will have to earn the right to cross those thresholds with time and dedication. Besides, even I cannot foresee when our other comrades will reveal themselves to you."

Scratching his head, Izuku continued to probe, "Well there was something else I was wondering," Izuku said. At the First Holder's short nod, he continued. "Since _One For All_ continues to grow both in power and the number of Quirks located within it, will there be a time when it's might becomes so large that eventually, it will be uncontrollable? One of the previous Holders must possess a Quirk which allows the body to gain some kind of protection or resistance to the overwhelming power that is our Quirk, right?" Midoriya was met with silence.

He began to berate himself, "Ah what am I even saying, you probably expected this to occur and you have some kind of plan, right?" As soon as those words escaped his parted lips, he wondered if he had said too much, for the audience before him was in an unexpected condition.

The First Holder stared at him with no expression on his solemn face, Daigoro had his jaw wide open, eyes mimicking the same position and Nana was flustered, her cheeks tinted pink.

It was at that time that Izuku realized, he had far more in common with his predecessors than he thought. Among the many traits that he shared with them, the inability to think things out before acting was one of them.

The Fifth Holder slapped his bald head, a resounding SMACK echoing through the vestige world, "Holy shit! The runt is right! Hey First, tell me you have some kind of a plan?!"

The First Holder continued to stare blankly. Finally, he muttered, "I wish this kid was my first ever successor, so many problems would have been avoided..." Before he could continue, Nana interrupted.

"Well, that just looks like it will be your job. Good thinking!" Giving him a very sharp thumps up, she smiled. Smiling awkwardly and cursing his big lousy mouth, Izuku nodded. All of a sudden, he could feel the atmosphere changing. So he decided to follow up with another inquiry.

Pursing his lips, the green-eyed teenager contemplated loudly. "I am very grateful that you have deemed me worthy enough to interact with you, but why now of all times? I admit that I am against a backcloth of something. According to the doctor, I am somehow in the year 2007, which is also, again, unusual. But I do not appear to be in any immediate danger?"

The owner of _Blackwhip_ decided to answer, "Kid, I am going to try to be as transparent as possible. We have absolutely no idea where the hell you are. Even worse, we are not even sure if we know anything about your current predicament," he glanced around, "This is going to be very challenging to hear, but we have to assume that we are completely on our own."

Nana decided to join in, "Daigoro is right. We have to formulate some kind of a plan. We cannot afford to trust anyone at this point. So, let's gather all of the current data that we possess." She finished, glancing at the First Holder.

He took over, "Assuming what the doctor told you is accurate and we are somehow in 2007, I could offer some insight. You see, my brother and I were born somewhere towards the end of the twentieth century, a short while after the first quirked individual appeared. By the turn of the twenty-first century, the news of Quirks spread rapidly around the world. Supposing this is the same reality, you should try to figure out if your caretakers know of any such activity. That will be our starting point."

Izuku was already in deep thought, "I believe I can manage that somehow. What is the ideal scenario here?"

 _All For One_ 's younger brother held up his hands. Raising the right one, he stated, "The better alternative would be if we were indeed in our world, albeit in the past. We would have the gift of foresight and we could ideally discover someone with a Quirk that could somehow help us in getting back. I have seen my fair share of time-related ones when I was alive, and even more through the vestige world," lowering his right hand, he raised his left one, "The other alternative is the one we would like to avoid. We would find ourselves in an alternate reality or a plane of existence where Quirks did not yet emerge, or most likely never will. Our chances of getting back to our timeline and reality would be slim to none. I would not count on science either. Such technology is most likely still millennia away."

Grimacing, Izuku thought out loud, "Would there not be a third alternative? What if this is just some kind of an illusion or a trick performed by _All For One_? Should we not try to investigate?" Seeing the shaking head of the First Holder, Izuku's hopes shattered.

"You might not have felt it yet, young Midoriya, but we are eternally bound by our nature to our counterpart. When you reach your full potential, you will begin to feel your shadow's presence. At this time, we are unable to feel _All For One_ , which leads me to the conclusion that he either does not exist yet or never will. Both outcomes equally terrifying, to say the least."

"What should I do if we are indeed not on our plane of existence, then? What if there are no Quirks?" Asked Izuku, seeking guidance.

All the Holders pondered for a while, after which the Fifth spoke up, "You should avoid revealing any information about your Quirk or your identity. Even if you would not exist in this new world, names are a powerful tool." Soaking up the advice, Izuku nodded.

Nana decided to voice her own thoughts, "Your best bet would be to feign ignorance and deny all possible accusations thrown at you. Deny knowing anything and let them think that you remember nothing. I know that deception is not one of your strong suits, not to mention not a preferred choice of action, but we do what we must to survive. At least until you find someone you can trust and confide in. But only if you are absolutely certain, not before."

The First Holder was the last to speak, "You have to face the reality that this might be it, young Midoriya. If we are stranded in a new world without Quirks, you have to accept the fact that you might not find your way back home. My advice to you is to live a life without regrets. Take that from someone who did not. Try to enjoy your brief time in life and when the time comes, choose a worthy successor. Even a quirkless world can produce many different sorts of monsters." With that, he receded back to the shadows, leaving him with the Seventh and Fifth.

Chuckling lightly, Daigoro spoke, "You damn well can't expect me to top that, kiddo. Just try to take it one step at a time. Know that in the direst of times, we are with you." Giving a light salute with his pointer and middle finger, he disappeared.

Last to leave was Nana. Placing a comforting hand on his dual-colored hair, she spoke, "Our new connection will allow us to interact with you even if you are not directly in the vestige world, even if it will be somehow limited. If you ever need help, you will know what to do. We all believe in you, Izuku. Make us proud." With a final smile, she joined her predecessors.

Left alone in the overwhelming darkness of his surreal world, Izuku mentally braced himself.

' _I can do this.'_

* * *

**The Doctor**

George was not a person of rash actions. If there was one important lesson that his late father had drilled into him ever since he was young, it was that patience was a virtue. He took his father's words to heart and tried to live by them as best as he could. Thinking back on it, this choice had also resulted in many of the results in his life that he called successes. His wife, Margaret, had not always made it easy but that was also the reason why he loved her and got her in the end, despite the overwhelming competition in college. His son Walter also tested his patience on an almost daily basis, but he could manage. Even his career as a pediatrician profited from his father's wisdom, since working with the younger generations could sometimes prove to be a real hassle.

But nothing in his life even came close to testing him as this unnamed and unknown patient before him. George could not, for the life of him, make any sense of it. Being brought in by Paul in a state that would warrant proper questioning, then actually waking up and not showing any signs of any physical or mental trauma, to then having the audacity to have a panic attack and _faint._ As much as Dr. Whittaker wanted nothing more than to have all the answers to his myriad of questions, they would have to wait until he made sure this kid was in no peril.

After approximately 30 seconds had gone by since the teenager fainted, George made his way to the door of the sterilized room to call for Sharon, Cassie, or whoever the hell he could get his hands on. Just an instant before the words left his mouth, the kid proved to him that almost all of his teachings in medical school were full of shit by having the grace to wake up, again. Instantly, George rushed to his side and did the routine check of his vitals.

"Kid, please hear me out. I am only about 35 years old and in no hurry to have any gray hair since my wife tells me it's one of my greatest redeeming qualities besides my superb sense of humor. If you are the cause of it, you are supplying me with my hair-coloring sprays for the rest of my life or until I go completely bald. What the hell is wrong with you and why can't I figure it out?" George's voice seemed to be dripping with an equal amount of confusion, anger, and relief.

His now awake patient's vividly-green eyes slightly widened at first but then gained a familiar sight of warmth and understanding, his lips quirking in an almost unnatural fashion to form a brief smile. As soon as it appeared and before he could comment on it, it vanished.

Having the grace to look apologetic, the patient spoke. "I am sorry Dr. _Witakah,_ I will try my very best to avoid making your hair go white, I promise, _"_ He grinned. "I do think that even with gray hair your wife would still love you, don't worry. from what I can see, your ' _superb_ humor is not your only redeeming quality."

Running a hand through his hair, George made to sit down on the only other chair in the room, but before he could Sharon burst into the room.

"Dr. Whittaker, is everything okay? The janitor notified me that you were frantic and about to call for help but stopped for some reason?" Her eyes were filled with concern and judging from her state of being short for breath, she had run all the way here.

George decided to clarify the situation. "Yes, Sharon. Our unnamed patient gave me quite the scare just now, but he seems to be in stable condition. I will notify you if anything else comes up, you can go." After throwing a worried glance at his patient, Sharon nodded and left the room, leaving him once again alone with the teenager.

Focusing his attention on the mystery guest once again, George began. "Now, I want you to tell me who you are and what happened to you. This time, without having any kind of panic attack or fainting, if you would. And before you ask, no, you were not carrying any sort of identification on you when you were brought in." Leaning back into the uncomfortable hospital chair, he crossed his arms and waited patiently.

The green-haired kid nodded and made to stand up to a sitting position. Instinctively, George made to help his patient, but upon seeing a hand being held up, he leaned back and allowed it. This kid was used to doing things himself, it seemed.

Taking a deep breath, his patient began. "My name is Izuku M-," he winced suddenly, but continued, "Izuku Yagi, and I am from Japan, or at least I think so. As for where exactly from Japan and how I came to be here in your town, I do not know. All I remember is that I was together with my friends from school. We were on our way to an annual festival and the next thing I know is waking up in this bed, clothed in nothing except for my underwear and hospital gown. Can you tell me what happened to me?"

George frowned, not having expected such an outcome. Was the kid lying or being deliberately ignorant? He was not an expert on reading people, not to mention ones he did not know personally, but he had a feeling that the young man in front of him was not lying, at least not fully.

"What do you mean by that? Do you not remember anything at all related to your sudden appearance here? And what do you mean by 'you think so'? Do you not know what city or village you come from or who your parents are? Is that what you are telling me? And I am just expected to believe this?" Frown deepening, George expressed his skepticism.

Stance shifting, his patient suddenly sported a pained expression, as if in pain. "I just can't remember. I know who I am, but not from where I originate and how I came to be here, I swear to you. Why would I lie?" The green eyes filled with unshed tears towards the end of the sentence, making George regret being so forceful and straightforward. So he decided to try another approach.

Eyes softening, he replied. "I see. I apologize for coming off as skeptical, but you do have to admit that this circumstance makes little to no sense," at receiving a nod, he continued. "I believe you, Izuku. But I cannot just let this go, since my own professional and personal principles would not allow me to. I will inform the local authorities of your predicament and we will see about reaching a nearby Japanese Embassy for further clarification. Maybe they can help you, does that sound alright?"

At an almost happy nod, George resumed. "I would, however, still like to know how you came by these scars on your upper body, including that third-degree burn mark."

At the mention of them, Izuku glanced down and his face scrunched up with concentration as if trying to remember something. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "Oh, these? Well, I happened to be involved in a local catastrophe when I was younger. Whilst playing in an abandoned factory, we realized too late that we had ignored the warnings for imminent demolition of said factory. Thanks to our carelessness, we almost died as a result. While most of my friends made it out unscathed, I was just too slow and a piece of concrete fell on me. Thankfully, it broke to pieces and only left these scars instead of crushing me completely, " changing his attention to the burn mark on his shoulder, he explained. "My mother accidentally dropped boiling water on it, " at seeing the troubled expression on George's face, he quickly added. "It was all my fault though! I ran straight into her legs while she was carrying the kettle. Not any result of child abuse or something..." he added, rubbing his temple.

George felt speechless, his jaw already slack. Composing himself, he retorted. "You have had really back luck growing up, Izuku. But I wonder how is it that you remember this but nothing about who your mother actually is?"

Eyebrows raised, Izuku once again went into deep thought. "Hmmm, you are correct. However hard I think on it, I can barely make out some shape of a face but sadly not a name that would identify her. But I am pretty sure that her last name is the same as mine. I am sorry for not being able to contribute more, I really am."

Eyes softening, George tried to comfort Izuku. "You shouldn't be sorry, Izuku. I give you my word that I will try my absolute hardest to find out what happened to you. You can count on me. As I mentioned before, I will relay your name and current situation to the local authority and see to it that it reaches the corresponding Japanese Embassy. As for your current identification means, we will figure something out." Offering him a smile, George stood up.

Just as he was about to exit, Izuku stopped him. "Sir, may I ask you a question?" At his gentle nod, Izuku did so. "I have this weird word in my head that keeps popping up. Does the term _Quirk_ mean anything to you?" Weirdly enough, he got really hopeful for a brief moment.

George thought for a moment. "A quirk? Do you mean like a characteristic? Like a peculiar aspect of a person or something?"

Izuku's eyes reverted to their sunken state, a sad sigh escaping his parted lips. "I just thought that it might mean something in English, sorry."

George smiled. "Don't worry. Lots of foreigners have difficulties with English and our weird words, you will get used to it in no time."

Before he left the room, he turned one last time. "Oh, by the way, it's Dr. Whittaker, not _Witakah_. Best get used to it." With this, he closed the door.

As soon as he left the company of Izuku, his smile disappeared. His first order of business would have to be to contact the Sheriff to discuss the situation. His next concern would have to be to find a suitable place to host their little mystery. As much as he would like to keep Mr. Yagi at his hospital, the unpaid medical fees were already a problem. Hopefully, the Japanese government would sort it out.

George reached into the pocket of his white overcoat to retrieve his cellphone. Just as he was about to dial the Sheriff's number, his attention was brought to a man that was asleep on one of the seats in the corridor. He was positioned at an odd angle with his head hanging over his left shoulder, hands crossed in an uncomfortable-looking manner. With a sigh, he walked towards Paul and upon reaching him, started gently shaking his shoulders in an attempt to wake up the elder man.

"Paul, please wake up." After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, Paul's eyes slowly opened.

George continued. "Why are you still here? Miss McCoy must be worried sick. Have you even called her?" At hearing this, the elder man's expression changed to one of a grimace, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more prominent.

Rubbing his face, Paul responded. "How long has it been? Sophie is going to skin me alive this time George, I tell ya. Especially when she finds out I've been messing around our old property at the forest again." His facade changed as if he suddenly remembered something vital. "How's the kid?"

George sat down to the seats on the opposite wall. "Well, he is fine. The good news is that we know his name and country of origin. Bad news - he does not remember where exactly who his parents or friends are, his exact location in his country, or even the names of his parents. This whole thing is a fucking mess. I have to go and talk to Sheriff Bayle about this and see if we can work something out. In the meantime, I will also see about finding him a place to stay until we've figured out what to do with him. Why don't you head home, Paul?"

Said man pursed his lips and his eyes hardened. "I would like to speak to the kid. I found him, he is my responsibility too. Is that okay?"

George sighed. "Why would you do that, Paul? Just go home. You got him safely to us. He is safe now, just go home." Even if he said those words, he knew that Paul would not relent. Many veterans were stubborn like that. It seemed to be an occupational hazard. Just like John.

Mr. McCoy was already on his feet, heading towards the patient's door. George just shook his head at the antics Paul displayed and relented. Instead, he stood up and unlocked his phone again, this time going forth with the dial on the Sheriff's number.

After ringing a couple of times, Sheriff Bayle answered. "Hey there George, how can I help you, son?" His voice was croaky and gruff.

"Firstly you can come by the hospital some time and get your throat checked out, preferably after your 16-hour working day," After a brief laugh from the other end of the connection, George resumed. "I have something I would like to discuss with you. Can you come over now?"

"Is everything okay? One of the idiot boyfriends of those nurses creating problems again?" Bayle asked, a low but dangerous chuckle escaping his lips. Woe to the enemy that had to stand in his way, George had seen it personally and spoke from experience.

"No, no, nothing like that. Just head over here and I will explain. Thank you." After hearing a short confirmation, George hung up and made his way to his office.

* * *

**The Ninth Holder**

As soon as the doctor left the room, Izuku buried his face in his waiting palms. He felt bad, sorry and he felt regret. Here were people who took care of him and he had lied directly to their faces. Sighing deeply, he let himself fall back on his fairly comfortable pillow and stared blankly at the white ceiling, letting his thoughts cloud his head for a while. Aside from his lies, there was another tremendous trouble that he was now facing.

' _This is the less ideal alternative the vestiges spoke about. As far as I could gather from Dr. Whittaker, Quirks do not exist, which according to the intel I got from the First Holder leads me to believe that they never evolved into existence and most likely never will in this timeline. What the hell am I going to do?'_ Rubbing his face a bit more to try and fight his ever-growing headache, Izuku continued to brainstorm. Then he asked himself a question that he always did when he was in a situation that supposedly had no way out.

' _What would All Might do?'_ Unfortunately, even his all-time favorite rhetorical question had no answers for him. Looks like he was going to have to figure this one out without his mentor. He stopped himself. ' _I can still talk to the previous Holders. They will guide me_.' Izuku thought, trying to restore his slipping morale.

Over the next few minutes, Izuku focused on the clock that was hung on the opposite wall. It was round and had an aluminum casing, its dial colored black. Since he was alone, it's mechanical second hand resonated in the room with a short and precise _ticking_ soundevery second. The Ninth Holder allowed it to help him control himself, breathing in for 7 seconds and breathing out for 5 seconds consecutively, a useful trick he had learned from All Might. He concluded that the method did in fact work since he felt reasonably calmer now than he did about 5 minutes ago. But his peace would not last for long. There was a set of soft knocks against the door to his room.

Whoever the person on the other side of the door was, knocked again for the second time after not hearing a response from Izuku. This time, however, Izuku responded with a short but uncertain "Come in."

The handle twisted slowly and the door parted. An elderly man made his entrance. He was either in his late forties or in his early fifties, Izuku could not say for sure. He was fairly tall, slim, yet he could see specific undertones of muscle formations under his flannel shirt. His skin was a rich black tone, indicating that the man was what the Americans referred to as "African-American".

The man looked around the room in an uncomfortable manner, his eyes finally coming to rest on Izuku. Briefly glancing at the chair that was previously occupied by Dr. Whittaker, an unspoken question passed between them. Smiling slightly, Midoriya gave a small nod. Acknowledging it, his unknown guest came closer and seated himself, taking his cap off in the process, allowing the green-haired youth to take a closer look at his complexion.

His hair still stuck to his scalp, not showing any signs of receding. Izuku could notice traces of waves in it, indicating that he used to fashion it in such a way but had not cared to do so in a long time, therefore also coming off as coarse. Despite his age, he still retained some of his youthful features. The wrinkles on his forehead numbered few, whilst being completely absent on his cheeks. When he attempted a small, yet hesitant smile, his lips revealed a set of white teeth. Yet what struck Izuku the most were the eyes.

They were kind, frank, more gray than blue, and gave off an aura of friendliness. Izuku could not help it - his smile resonated with his guest's. Since he was the person being visited, Midoriya waited patiently for the elderly man to speak up.

Positioning the cap on his lap and interlocking his hands, he did. "So, I hear from George that you are well, no injuries or whatsoever to speak of."

Izuku nodded. "Yes, sir. Am I to assume that you are the one who found and brought me here?" At an immediate nod, the Ninth Holder bowed his head. "I would like to express my gratitude. As soon as I am up on my feet, I shall do so properly, but for now please accept my words. Thank you!"

Not having expected such a dramatic response, his guest became flustered. "Ah, no worries there, lad. All I did was something anyone would have done. Don't sweat it. Besides, how can I look myself in the mirror every morning if I cannot help a young lad like you?" Extending his hand, he introduced himself. "The name is Paul, Paul McCoy. What about you?"

Izuku stared at the outstretched hand. Not wanting to come off as a complete asshat, he immediately reached for it. "Izuku, Izuku Yagi, sir. I am from Japan, although I am still not sure where exactly."

The man now identified as Paul nodded slowly. "Yes, George also mentioned something of the sort. Don't worry lad, I'm sure that the authorities will figure something out," a pregnant pause stretched out between them. "Japanese, you say? You don't look Japanese, though. Ya parents mixed or something?" At Izuku's bewildered expression, Paul immediately regretted his choice of words.

"Ah, shit, sorry lad I did not mean to say it like that. What I mean is all japs I've seen had flatter eyes, like almonds, you see. That's what I... Oh, fuck me I'm just making this worse. Sor-" Before Paul could finish, he was interrupted by the sound of laughter filling the sterile white hospital room. Izuku was having a genuine heartfelt laugh, prompted by his guest's hilarious antics. After making sure that it was okay, Paul joined him.

Wiping away a couple of tears, Izuku replied with a cheeky grin. "Yea I suppose I don't look exactly like a traditional Japanese person, right? I think my father-side might have some non-japanese blood, but I can't be sure as of now. And no, I am not offended, Mr. McCoy." As soon as the words came out, Paul let out a sigh of relief. Rubbing his forehead, he muttered.

"Sophie always said my big lousy mouth got me in trouble, should'a listened to her."

Izuku decided to investigate. "Mr. McCoy, would you like to tell me about yourself, sir? I would gladly tell you about myself first, but I am a little hindered in that department."

Paul laughed in response. "Sure, lad. Name's Paul, 48 years old, got a pretty wife named Sophie who nags at me all the time and a beautiful daughter named Dorothy. I live just outside the town at a ranch, ain't got no animals, though. I am a woodworker by profession, learned it from my daddy back in the day. Although all the woodworking I've been doing in the last decade is gathering firewood at my old property. I just can't do it anymore like I used to. My body does not agree with it." His eyes became unreadable for a second, but Izuku recognized it. Pain was hard to conceal to someone who had pretended his whole life that being quirkless way _okay._

"Why not get some help? Do you like to work alone, or...?" Izuku let the unfinished question hang in the air, expecting to prompt a response. After a slight pause, he got his wish.

Sighing heavily, Paul responded. "I used to have my boy, John, helping me out. Taught him everything I knew, just like his granddaddy did to me. We were doing really well, too. He had a knack for it, he could predict accurately where the tree would fall, how much spread it would have and whether it would shatter on impact. My boy was made for this, I tell ya." He let out a light chuckle, recalling fond memories.

Izuku wondered if he should ask, but decided to. "Is he not interested anymore? Or did he move away? Is that why you are working alone?"

Paul let out a dry, humorless chuckle which reminded Izuku more of a pained grunt. "I wish, lad. I wish. My boy is gone from this world."

Izuku's chest tightened at the sudden horrible revelation, wishing he had not pried at all. Gracefully as he could manage, Izuku apologized, expressed his condolences, and silence reigned within the room once more.

Just then, the door to the room opened once again, this time announcing the arrival of Dr. Whittaker and a man dressed in some kind of a police uniform if Izuku had to make an educated guess. As he saw Mr. McCoy, he briefly touched the tip of his police hat, expressing a greeting.

"How are you doin, Paul? Haven't seen you at Jack's for a while."

Paul smirked. "Yeah, tell that to Sophie, jackass. If I come home drunk at 3 in the night again, she will divorce me. But yeah, I do miss our poker games from time to time. I'll make sure to drop by."

While they conversed, Izuku had the chance to examine the officer closely. He was tall, wide-shouldered, and sturdy. It seemed that he gained a wide berth everywhere he went. It might have been due to a sport he played while he was young or another activity, Izuku could only speculate. His hair that poked out from the sides not covered by his hat was streaked gray, and his face held a fair number of wrinkles in comparison to Mr. McCoy. His brown eyes were still sharp though, a trait surely gained by being in his profession. His belly was out there though, showing signs of accumulated fat.

The unknown individual nodded with a slight grin of his own and shifted his attention to Izuku, pulling out a notebook from his jacket pocket. He opened it and pulled out a small pencil, almost spent from being used too often. "Hello, young man. I am Sheriff Barry Bayle, but everybody calls me Sheriff Bayle. I was informed by George here of your situation. I already gathered that you do not recall much besides your name and country of origin," at Izuku's confirmation, he continued. "Alright then. Before I send this in, got anything else you want to add? Remember anything that could help us identify your folks?"

Izuku thought for a while, still debating whether he should have gone forth with the deception.

' _Too late now, I suppose...'_ But he could reveal some other things that might not be too harmful.

"My birthday is 15th of July, I am currently 16 years old, I had a friend with blonde, spiky hair and I attended self-defense classes at a famous academy of some sorts, don't recall the name though. I do not think I have any siblings," Izuku pondered what else he should say. "I think that is all I can tell you at this time, sir. I'm sorry."

Sheriff Bayle nodded. "Don't sweat it, kid. We will take care of you." Throwing one last glance at his notebook, he closed and pocketed it. "We will have to find you temporary accommodation. I will have a talk with the owners of the local hotel, they might be feeling charitable," he turned to Dr. Whittaker. "How about we continue this conversation in your office, doc?"

Before they could exit, Paul spoke up. "Hey, Barry, why don't I take the kid in? I found him, he's my responsibility." Barry threw him a questioning look, not understanding the reasoning behind this peculiar request. "Oh don't look at me like that. You know how we were taught. You help those in need." Determination had consumed Paul.

Bayle took off his hat and ran a hand through his graying hair. He turned to Dr. Whittaker. "What do you say, George? Can the boy be hosted at Paul's?" George thought for a minute.

"I don't see anything harmful in it. I'd like to ask him to come in for a check-up in about two days, though. Is that okay, Izuku?" At Izuku's nod, the matter was sealed.

Izuku could not believe it. Here was this man, offering him some much-needed shelter without even knowing him. Izuku's conscience ached even more despite already being shattered at the previous deception. He would make sure to pay Mr. McCoy somehow. For now, all he could do was express gratitude.

"Thank you so much, sir! I will make sure to pay you back as soon as I can! I swear it!" Paul suddenly became flustered and equipped with a scolding tone, he informed Izuku.

"Nonsense! Stop talking in such a way. You will pay me back whenever you want, and this is in no way a loan or something. I help you today, you help me tomorrow, right?" His smile was breathtaking and Izuku could swear he almost compared it to All Might's.

Sheriff Bayle was already on his way out before he turned around. "Ya got any clothes, kid? Can't expect doc here to let you out in a gown, after all."

Izuku did not know how to answer that. Thankfully, Paul intercepted. "The costume you were here with previously is in no shape to wear. I got some spare clothes I keep here just in case I need to change, though. You can borrow them for now. Even if they're a little big for you, they should suffice. Just make sure to give them back ironed later, okay?" With a wink, Dr. Whittaker left the room to retrieve the clothes before Izuku could go on another thanking rampage. Sheriff Bayle followed him.

The Ninth Holder's mind suddenly shifted to his Hero Costume, the latest upgraded Costume Gamma. It must have been in tatters now after his bout with _All For One_. His Air Force Gloves and Iron Armor Soles had already been destroyed beforehand, so there was no prospect of retrieving them.

' _Sorry, Hatsume. Looks like I broke your babies, again...'_ Sighing once, Izuku conversed with Mr. McCoy until Dr. Whittaker returned.

After Izuku had been clothed in a crisp white shirt with oversized brown pants, directly from the personal wardrobe of Dr. Whittaker, he waited while paperwork was filled and he was discharged from the hospital. At the entrance, Paul went to pick up his vehicle while he exchanged some last words with his doctor.

Bowing formally, Izuku said. "Dr. Whittaker, I would like to thank you once more for all that you have done for me. I will never forget yours, or Mr. McCoy's kindness. Be healthy and safe."

Feeling unsure, Dr. Whittaker copied his pose and replied. "It was my pleasure, Izuku. I still expect to see you Tuesday, though."

With those words, he headed back inside, leaving the teenager to wait alone.

Izuku smiled and replied after him. "Yes, sir!" Dr. Whittaker raised his hand in response.

Soon enough, Mr. McCoy pulled up in a gray, worn-out pickup truck. Honking once, he beckoned him over. "Get in!" Izuku hurried to comply.

As soon as he closed the passenger door, the smell of worn, oiled leather hit his nostrils. The seat felt comfortable to sit in, albeit a bit torn from years of usage. An old-looking air freshener hung from the rear-view mirror, the entirety of its scented liquid long expired judging from the lack of scented air. Changing the gear, Mr. McCoy took off.

The ride was fairly uneventful. Aside from a couple of questions from Izuku regarding some of the sights in the small town, little was spoken between them. Such a thing was the gray statue of a man holding an ax over his shoulder. Mr. McCoy replied that the little town was once famous for all of the woodworkers that lived and worked in the area, thus the name Lumber Springs. He was the third generation of woodworkers from his own family, which greatly impressed the Ninth Holder.

About 10 minutes into the drive, the dark-skinned man pulled what Izuku summarised must have been a flip phone and dialed.

"Hello honey, it's me. Yes, yes, I know I didn't call you after arriving in the hospital all day, but I swear I have a legitimate reason for that, don't worry. Yes, I'm fine, " after an indistinguishable sentence from the other end, Paul replied. "Yes, I am headed home. Can you please set another plate at the table? We have a guest. Yes, I am bringing the kid I found home, since he has no place to stay, " more chatter followed. "Yeah, George discharged him today since he doesn't really have any injuries. Okay, see you in a bit." With that, he closed the phone and tucked it back in his shirt pocket. After about 5 minutes more, the houses and establishments disappeared and all that was left beside the road were trees.

"Wow, you weren't kidding, Mr. McCoy. There are a lot of trees here." Izuku remarked.

"Hah. Wish you had seen the older areas my daddy used to work in. I'll bring you by my property one day to let you see what real trees look like, kiddo. Alright, here we go." With that, he swerved into a narrow dirt road and soon enough a ranch came into view, consisting of a two-story house and a red barn. The two buildings were surrounded by fences that went around them, while still leaving enough space to grow crops if one so wished to. Passing the unbarred gate of the fence, the car came to a halt in front of the porch.

As they got out of the truck, Izuku could see the house clearly. The porch was white, mirroring the overall outer color of the house. As they climbed the steps, Mr. McCoy went ahead, pushed the door open, and stepped in. Then he turned around and beckoned him over. Izuku suddenly felt self-conscious. Here he was, entering the house of a man and burdening him with his presence. He wondered what his mother would say to that. She would scold him, surely. Paul's patience ran out.

"You waiting for, a written invitation? Get your ass in here." Izuku barely managed to not trip on the threshold. Directly across the door was a stairway, decorated with stair rugs, each step colored in a different, bright, and bold color. To his left, Izuku could see the entrance to what he summarized must be the living room. To his right, a kitchen panned out. Near the staircase was another corridor leading to a third room on the first floor, but the door was closed so Midoriya could not make out what it was for. The walls in the house were beige-colored, the wall near the staircase decorated with numerous frames filled with diverse photographs.

"Paul? Is that you?" Came a voice from the living room and soon a person followed it.

' _That must be Mrs. McCoy.'_ Izuku deducted. To his mild surprise, her skin was tanned, yet still white. In his time, racism was a thing of the past. Instead, people were scorned for their Quirks, more than anything else. But as far as he could remember his history lessons, skin color-based prejudice had existed until the end of the first half of the twenty-first century, especially in the United States. To see that Mr. McCoy was married to a white woman made him unexpectedly happy, realizing that they must have fought against a system that tried to keep them apart.

Sophie was almost as tall as Izuku, about 5'4 in height. Despite being in her early forties, she only had a few wrinkles around her eyes, her forehead and cheeks remaining spotless. Her chestnut-colored hair was still glossy and had volume to it, looking alive. Her eyes were, like Paul's, kind but blue. As soon as she saw him, an easy smile spread across her face and she came over to give him a big hug.

"Oh dear, so you are the poor child Paul found today. He told me about you briefly after you were taken into the emergency room, but he failed to mention that you were okay," Paul received an icy glare and he suddenly found the vase on the kitchen window very interesting. "Come in, dear. You must be famished. Paul, how about you go ahead and change into something more comfortable? We will be having a conversation about why you were working your old working clothes don't worry." Mr. McCoy's expression suddenly froze and he let out a quiet curse.

While Izuku's first instinct was to deny and spare the kind family to all kinds of trouble of looking after him, his stomach betrayed him with a loud growl, drawing out a hearty chuckle from the kind lady. With a hand over his shoulders, she shoved him to the kitchen and made him sit around the table positioned in the middle of it.

The kitchen was spacious, yet the big table covered most of the space in it. The cupboards were all colored green, the only exception being the white of the fridge and dishwasher. Over the counter was a collection of neatly placed utensils, complete with a knife storage box. He found it quite weird since it consisted of a bust, upon whose back the knives were stabbed. What was the deal with that?

Sophie craned her head out to the side and called out. "Dorothy! Come down for dinner, baby." Noticing Izuku's stare at her knife holder, she became flustered. "Oh, I know what you are thinking. I'm so petty and childish for getting a Ceasar bust and using it's back as knife storage. I just always found it kind of funny. Lots of guests didn't seem to think so, though."

It took Izuku a second, but he began laughing. "No, that's actually genius! I was always fascinated by how such a man like Ceasar never saw the betrayal coming. I think it fits." Judging by the way how her face lit up, Izuku was pleased with himself for that comment.

fter a couple of seconds, wild and excited steps made their proximity known over the staircase, and soon enough a young girl, that was 11 or 12 at most, entered the kitchen. Her skin was a mix between white and black, having a lighter shade than her father but still a darker one than her mother. Her hair was wild and her brown locks were wavy, tickling down her shoulders. Her eyes were blue, like her mother's. She wore a bright-pink t-shirt with a purple alien on it, complete with purple pajama pants. As soon as she saw him, her complexion expressed her surprise. She was obviously not informed of his arrival beforehand.

"Take a seat, dear. This is Izuku, our new guest. Now, how do we welcome guests?" Asked Sophie.

Dorothy shifted her gaze to her mother, before returning it to him. "Welcome, _Izoukou._ "

Izuku smiled and replied. "Thank you. It's nice to meet you!" She equipped a hesitant smile and seated herself at the table, directly across from him.

"What are we having tonight, mama?" Inquired Dorothy, clearly hungry.

Sophie took out a large silver pot, steam escaping through the lid. "Chicken stew, your daddy's favorite!"

While letting it cool for about 5 minutes, Mr. McCoy came down, hair still dripping with moisture from the shower he took. He was now dressed in a simple white shirt and grey cargo pants. After he sat down to Izuku's right side, his wife placed the pot on the table and took her own seat to the Ninth Holder's left.

Izuku did not know what he was supposed to do now. But thankfully, Ms. McCoy came to the rescue. Interlocking her hand with her daughter, she offered the other one to him. Throwing a questioning glance, Izuku accepted it. Following her example, he offered his hand to Mr. McCoy. To his mild surprise, he gave a weak smile and shook his head. At this, Ms. McCoy sighed softly before starting with a brief prayer, thanking the divine deity that she believed in. They started to dig in afterwards.

After a couple of minutes of eating in silence, Izuku decided to start a conversation, feeling uncomfortable. "This is really tasty, Ms. McCoy! I have never had this before," said Izuku. Noticing that the compliment made the woman happy, he counted it as a victory for himself.

Dorothy decided to chip in. "Why is your hair green?"

Immediately her mother retorted. "Dorothy! What kind of a question is that, honey?" Throwing a glance at Izuku, she relaxed at seeing his amused expression.

"I don't know. Maybe because I ate too many vegetables?" Izuku teased. At this, Dorothy's eyes became wide as saucers, clearly not believing her ears. Mr. McCoy laughed heartily, and soon his wife joined him. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. Izuku offered to help with the dishes at the end, but Sophie refused him, telling him that he was supposed to rest after what she called an exhausting day for him. Nodding, Izuku let himself be led to the second floor of the house by Mr. McCoy and directly to the room at the end of the corridor there.

Flicking the lights, Paul explained. "This is a guest room. Sophie cleans it about every second week, so you shouldn't worry about it being unsanitary. She also left you a pair of pajamas," he pointed to a small room to the left. "This is the bathroom, you may use it to take a shower and relieve yourself, kiddo. Please get some rest, we will talk in the morning." Patting Izuku on the shoulder twice, Paul wished him a good night and closed the door to the guest room.

Sighing once, Izuku headed for the shower. After a nice, long and warm one he dressed in his pajamas and slipped beneath the soft gray covers. His thoughts drifted to his loved ones.

' _Mom, All Might...'_ Izuku thought to himself, still unable to grasp the reality that he may not ever see them again.

Alone in the darkness of the guest room, Izuku finally let his tears fall and wash away the pain of the harsh truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thanks for reading this far along! Please drop a review to let me know what you think about the story!
> 
> So as you might have guessed, I am taking more of a slow approach at the beginning, trying to establish a foundation for the events to come. Yes, Izuku will totally get involved with the supernatural society in one way or another, also with our main characters, no doubt, but that could be a bit far as of now.
> 
> I am aiming to create a story driven by various plot points. Izuku will not be the only person to have a POV chapter in this story. Hopefully you all will enjoy what is about to come.
> 
> Till next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**The Woodworker**

It had been quite an unusual week since they offered Izuku a place to stay, Paul thought. The guest room that they had given him was as common as it got from what he saw at Barry's house. It included a spacious single-bed, a wardrobe, a night-stand, and a desk with a black, dust-covered desk lamp on it. The chair under it had gone untouched for many years since they had not accommodated anyone over that period of time. The wall, to which the desk was attached, was decorated with a "mural" as Dorothy called her artwork, a remnant of her earlier years when she was left unsupervised. The frescoed image depicted a family of four, or at least it tried to, anyway. Judging from the bright red-colored flannel jacket on the bigger man, Paul supposed it was him, the woman near him his wife, the child near his torso Dorothy herself and the tallest of the bunch should be John.

The room was pretty spartan and Izuku kept it that way. The only addition to the room being to the wardrobe which housed the bright-green, albeit ruined costume that their guest got back from George on his check-up about five days ago. It also included two t-shirts, a set of jeans, comfortable pants to wear indoors, and some underwear. The clothes that George had loaned Izuku were returned on his last visit. Whatever the story behind the costume was, Paul was gracious and respectful enough to not ask about it and he advised Sophie and Dorothy to do the same.

It was currently a Sunday night, a school night for Sophie, to be exact. Being a sixth-grader was tough, according to her. Sitting around the kitchen table, Paul was currently attempting his best to help his daughter out with her math homework. The keyword was attempting since it had been ages since he had paid any attention to school-grade math. The most recent memory he had of it was helping John with his homework back in the day. Even then, homework was never Paul's best suit. He knew wood, he knew geometry and he knew numbers, but when it came to putting his knowledge to use at the middle school level, he failed. Quite extraordinary, Paul thought. But since Sophie was busy preparing dinner, he was the only option available, much like always.

When he thought of wood, his thoughts drifted back to the conversation he had had with his wife last Sunday. Even after many of his promises to discontinue his woodworking activities, Paul just couldn't abide. Wood was all his father and his father's father knew before him, so naturally, it would be the case for him too. He loved and enjoyed his job, even took immense pride in it. After all, how could Dorothy finish her homework if people like him did not exist to supply wood to create paper?

It was tough work. The age of using axes to fall trees was long past, instead of the modernized methods of chainsaws and various other tools taking their place. That did not mean that there would not be any toll on the body. Paul was a logical and self-aware person. His long years in the industry had worn out his muscles and bones, an ever-present weariness had begun to call his shoulders it's home. That was why John was the ideal candidate to relieve some of that burden. After he was gone, all of Paul's problems began anew. He knew that he could not handle woodworking anymore, not alone at least. Hiring more workforce was out of the question though, their funds already being thinned out.

Sophie was unsurprised, disappointed but most of all, she was afraid. Afraid that he might hurt himself or receive a permanent injury. Paul knew that she was only looking out for him. He had promised her to either stop trying or hire someone to help him out. He doubted that she believed him though, her skeptic, brilliant eyes gave it away.

Sophie tapped his shoulder and a wordless sentence was formed between them, her eyes drifting to the second floor of their home. It was time to call their guest. Paul made to stand up and head over there. While walking, he went over Izuku's activities in the past week.

Unfortunately, he rarely left the guest room, choosing to stay there most of the time. The only exceptions being when it was time to eat or when he asked if there was any chore he could help out with. Izuku interacted with him most of the time when they ate, occasionally exchanging a few words with Sophie from time to time. Dorothy kept mostly to herself and Izuku seemed to refrain from talking to her. Even though he willingly volunteered to do chores, neither Paul nor Sophie had the strength to burden him with anything. Whatever the boy was going through was cruel enough on its own.

His wife had changed the sheets and the pillowcase yesterday. She had beckoned him over afterward to show him something worrisome. The pillowcase itself was squeaky clean, but the pillow was moist. Sophie had informed him that it was due to liquid entering it. After that, it had not taken someone with over 40 years in the FBI to figure out what the cause of it was. The boy was crying, most likely every night. Seeing him in such a state broke Paul's heart and he wished deeply that there was something more he could have done. But alas, his hands were tied. Barry had informed him that he had already sent word to the Japanese Embassy in New Orleans but they had heard nothing back yet.

Another peculiar thing was Izuku himself. Sophie had once walked into the room just as Izuku got out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his torso. She was, at first horrified by the number of scars adorning the boy's upper body, along with a few on his legs. Paul knew about those from his first encounter with the green-eyed boy and he told Sophie as much as he knew about their origin. She seemed to relax slightly, her thoughts having possibly been plagued by either domestic or some other form of abuse having befallen the poor boy.

What Paul noticed, however, was something different. Izuku wore John's old t-shirts from when he was a teenager. His late son was not scrawny, to say the least, and the t-shirts were adjusted to his body-ratio from way back then. That was not the case for their guest, since the t-shirts were being pushed to their absolute limit in order not to tear. Paul knew about the physical condition of a man, being required to maintain a healthy amount of muscle tissue himself for his line of work. Without a doubt, he could say that Izuku was "ripped" as the newer generation called it these days. The sheer concentration of honed muscle on his arms, shoulders, back, torso, and most of all the leg area hinted at some kind of extreme physical activity or sport.

There were certain key differences between muscles that were built only for show and muscles that were built to be used. Intake of external supplements to the body almost always made their presence known, the muscles either being blown out of proportion in comparison to other parts of the body or the abdomen being swollen beyond a natural state. As Paul had learned years ago in his gym class, a human's body was geometrically perfect, by their standards anyway. Any muscles that were built by natural means and used regularly would retain that pattern. Of course, he was no expert, but Izuku's physique seemed to be entirely natural and not just for appearance judging by the way the muscle tissue had grown and expanded.

Paul had wanted to probe, but he just assumed that the boy would either not remember as he claimed or would not willingly share that information with him. Being sixteen years old and having a body with a one-digit percentage of fat was something many athletes around the world would be jealous of, that much was certain.

By the time his inner monologue reached its conclusion, Paul had already reached the door to the guestroom. He knocked once and waited for a response. Upon receiving one, he grabbed the knob, turned it, and entered. He was greeted with the attention of green eyes.

Izuku was seated at the mostly-bare table, a notebook in front of him, with a pencil in hand. Half of the current right page was full, indicating that the green-haired boy was busy. Paul could only describe Izuku's fascination with notebooks and writing as a dangerously addictive one. He had only asked for notebooks and writing tools to pass the time with and so far he had gone through three notebooks and four high-grade pencils. Paul had once tried to pry, much to his shame, but realized that he could, in fact, not read Japanese letters, or _kanji_ as Izuku called them. Upon asking the boy about it, he replied by telling him he was writing down things he remembered just to make sure that they were laid down somewhere accessible. It made sense, but what he actually wrote down, Izuku did not share. Thus the contents of the mysterious notebooks remained, well, a mystery.

"Hey there, Izuku. Sophie is preparing the table, come down, would ya?" Paul informed him, hand still on the doorknob. At Izuku's nod, he turned to leave but hesitated. "Actually, can I talk to you for a bit?"

Izuku glanced away from his notebook for the second time and confusion is present in his eyes. He nodded, curiosity taking over. Paul closed the door softly and made his way to sit on the bed.

"We are worried because you rarely leave your room, Izuku. We know that you are not in the best of positions right now, but believe me, kid, moping around is not going to help you. Trust me, I know." Letting the words sink in, Paul continued. "I think that it will be better for you if you interacted with people more, namely Sophie and Dorothy to begin with. I can even take you into town if you would like and if there is anything else you would like to do, all you need to do is let me know. How does that sound?"

Izuku listened patiently and formed a light, grateful smile. "I understand, sir. I am sorry for distancing myself from you and your family, I am just trying to cope with my situation for now. I will try my best to not make you worry anymore, I promise."

Paul wanted to reach out to him. "Do you want to talk about anything else? I am not blind nor deaf, you know. Don't push it all deep down, kid. It will only hurt you, nothing else."

Izuku's smile disappeared, his gaze averting to the floor. "I know, but no, thank you, sir. I would like to deal with this on my own."

Paul is tempted to try again but ultimately relents. "Okay then. Just know that I am here for you, whatever the case may be. Now, let's get down before I get chewed out." After standing up together, they made their way down together.

Dinner was, as the last week had been, a quiet affair. Few words were exchanged between him and his wife, Dorothy occasionally chipping in. Izuku ate his meal in silence. From the corner of his eye, he peered at him, realizing that he was, in fact, watching Dorothy, who had her textbook on the table near her plate, her homework still due tomorrow. It was clear that she was struggling with it and she turned to him with her relentless puppy eyes, asking for help. Paul sighed.

"Hey Dorothy, what are you working on?" Came Izuku's voice, surprising everyone at the table. Blinking owlishly, Dorothy responded.

"It's my math homework for tomorrow. I can't do it, though..." she trailed off, head dipping down. Izuku turned to look at him again as if asking for permission. Feeling perplexed and curious at the same time, Paul gave a reluctant nod.

"If you like, I can help you. Math was always a favorite subject of mine." The room became brighter as Dorothy's eyes shone with hope and joy.

"Yes please!" With those excited words, suddenly the tense air plaguing the kitchen table evaporates and Izuku begins to contribute to the conversation. He tells them of his fascination with his subjects at school like math and physics, thermo-, and aerodynamics using them to determine how objects in the real world would interact with one another. His analysis skills are immaculate and he speaks like an expert, giving out examples about a body of mass hurling through the air at a specific speed, how much resistance the air would add into the equation, even specifies the types of air and their applied resistance. At the end of his semi-monologue, Paul calls it that since nobody really could contribute anything to it besides bewildered nods, he and his family are impressed.

"Good Lord, Izuku. Did you go to a school for the gifted or something? That level of knowledge is rarely seen in someone your age," Sophie complimented him. "You could have definitely taught Paul a thing or two about tree felling back in the day."

Izuku's cheeks are tinted pink, and he scratches his head while letting out a light chuckle. "I suppose so." He avoided commenting on it any further. Nobody was more impressed than Dorothy. At that moment she knew that her homework was as good as done.

After the meal, Izuku sat down with his daughter and took his time in explaining the intricacies of middle-school mathematics. Izuku's explanation was clear and understandable in comparison to his. The green-haired boy was clearly in his element, even if he did sometimes ask Dorothy about the exact terminologies used in English.

Paul was not entirely paying attention though. His mind was reeling with a new, wild, and quite probably, a dangerous idea.

* * *

At his wife's suggestion, Paul decided to drive Izuku to the town in order to visit Barry together to inquire about the current status of the Japanese Embassy regarding the boy's condition. She thought that it would serve as an apt excuse to force the boy to go out and interact with others his age if he ever saw them. So, around noon they got in his truck and made were on their way.

Izuku was in a better mood than he was during the last week, Paul noticed. The brief interaction with Dorothy last night had done him some good, at least. Some of the weight on the young man's shoulders seemed to be lifted and he sat comfortably on the passenger seat, his head resting on his elbow which was draped over the door of the car, observing the beautiful nature that was the road towards the town from their ranch. Lines of green-dotted trees were tall and strong, resembling the roman pillars of antiquity. It seemed fitting since trees were also a vital part of their town as well and they impacted and defined the livelihood of many a member of his own family.

After a couple of minutes of silent driving, Izuku perked up, eyes becoming alert. Paul noticed and followed the green-haired boy's gaze to what was a peek through the green behemoths to what was a large lake, or also known as Lumber Lake. After a while, the trees cleared out and a far better view was available. It had an almost-oval shape, its edges completely surrounded by tall Weeping Willows, Baldcypresses, and a few Sycamores, the only real entrance being the one they were currently driving near, with a clear, created path. At the other end of the lake, a small waterfall was available, which was created by the narrow creek above it, it's water supplied by a mineral resource up in the mountains. The woodworker remembered playing, swimming, and enjoying late-night campfires with his friends along the narrow but long lakeshore when he was young.

Judging from the sudden disappointing realization of Izuku's, Paul knew that he now knew why that was only a distant memory. The lakeshore was littered with decades worth of manmade industrial, hazardous, and a lot of household waste. Paul stopped the car on the side of the road to allow the boy to observe.

"What..." Izuku began, unable to finish.

"This here is Lumber Lake. About a square kilometer of surface, 10 meters being the maximum depth around the center. The lakeshore used to be filled with golden sands that reflected the sunlight so nicely that you thought you walked on gemstones, kiddo. Not anymore because of all this shit on it, though." Izuku looked at him, probably wondering how this all happened, so he obliged him.

"It began with a large mining company that bought some land back in the eighties. They began dumping their old and unusable equipment on the lakeshore after about three years of operation. A year after that, they began dumping mined resources that were unfit to be processed," Paul chuckled. "The mayor stopped that at the time due to pressure from townsfolk but said nothing about the equipment that was left here. After a while, the townsfolk also began to dump their trash here, be it an old fridge or a dishwasher, or even their trash at some point."

The woodworker took off his cap and sighed. "Add about thirty years, this is what you get. A beautiful creation of nature ruined by unforgiving humans. We talked to Mr. Sleigh about doing something about this, but the only thing he was interested in was his next election at the time. Something about costing too much, he said," he put his cap back on. "What a load of crap."

"That's sad..." Izuku trailed off, his gaze never leaving the once beautiful lake.

"I would have given pretty much everything to be able to bring Dorothy here for a nice day, just like my daddy used to do with me," Paul told his young guest before heading back to the truck. "Come on, Barry is waiting."

Izuku's eyes did not leave the lakeshore.

* * *

**The Ninth Holder**

Upon making a left to exit the unpaved road, the trees started to clear out, giving their way to an exquisite view of the nearby hills and far-away mountains, their tops decorated with dots of white. Eventually, the town could be seen, identifiable by the houses at the entrance of it. Driving for another minute, the truck pulled up to the police station.

Izuku watched as Mr. McCoy got out of the vehicle and approached the entrance. Izuku wanted nothing to do with what awaited him in there.

"Mr. McCoy, may I just go ahead and take care of that shopping list your wife gave you? I don't feel like standing around not doing anything. This way, we can both be productive." He offered, silently pleading. It was bad enough that he knew nothing affirmative would arrive from the embassy, worse was the fact that he still lied to the person that took care of him for the past week.

The last seven days were probably one of the most miserable times Izuku had ever experienced. Even being bullied by Kacchan and his goons for being quirkless was better, he decided. Stuck in a world where everything was unfamiliar, far away from his mother, All Might and his friends was something Izuku never imagined would happen, not in the foreseeable future, at least. He had tried to cope with the dreadful feeling of hopelessness and loneliness in his own way- starting a new _Hero Analysis for the Future_ series was the method he had chosen. After the first notebook, Izuku had noticed that he was only putting down the information he already knew. That sudden realization only fueled his negative emotions, dampening his mood even further.

Just as his last shred of hope was about to disappear, the conversation with Mr. McCoy reminded him of another favorite saying of his, or All Might's, to be precise.

 _"A hero will always find a way out of a pinch, young Midoriya!"_ All Might's thunderous voice was always a comfort, something Izuku desperately wished he currently possessed. Letting his mentor's and the kind Mr. McCoy's words motivate him, Izuku decided to try to be productive and not sulk. It was easier said than done, though.

"For the millionth time, kiddo, it's Paul, not Mr. McCoy or Mr. Paul, got it?" Receiving a nod, Paul continued. "Got it, I'll talk to Barry and ask if there is anything new. Here's the shopping list and some cash, just go ahead to the store down the street, first left. If it costs more than what I gave you, just tell the cashier to put it on my tab." And the ninth Holder was off.

True to Paul's and his family's words, Lumber Springs was a small town. Izuku realized that by the number of looks he was getting while walking down the street, casually scanning the stores that were lined up. These people clearly realized that he was new in town. The green hair probably didn't help.

Passing a barbershop with a _very_ elderly man as the barber, Izuku turned left and saw the store Paul had mentioned. Pushing the door, he entered. His presence was made known by the shopkeeper's bell which chimed loudly. The cashier looked up from his newspaper, threw him a glance, and resumed as if nothing happened. The green-haired youth made to ask him about the whereabouts of some of the items on the list but ultimately decided against it. Searching by himself was fine, he supposed. The store was as American as it got from what Izuku could recall from some old movies he had seen when he was young. The walls were all lined up with products, one of them being equipped with a large wall-fridge containing dairy and other products. The main floor contained 4 rows of products as well, creating some type of corridors. Izuku began filling the basket he had picked up after he entered.

After asking an elderly lady about the location of butter, the green-eyed youth was ready. Exiting the store, Izuku let out a sigh of relief at the total being just below the amount Paul had given him. He turned to the general direction of the police station.

' _Turn around.'_

A sudden, painful spasm erupted inside the ninth Holder's head. Izuku almost dropped his bag, one hand flying to his face, a primal attempt at trying to ease the pain in his skull. It felt like his brain was on fire as if a blade was suddenly run through it.

As soon as it came, it went away and Izuku regained his bearings. The pain ceased, not a single ache remaining. Before being able to wonder what it was that caused him such agony, the teenager turned around and started walking at a fast pace towards the end of the street and rapidly turned around the corner entered a small alleyway between two buildings, just about a couple of meters wide. The place reminded him of his confrontation with the _Hero Killer._ What he saw made his blood freeze.

"Come on, dumbass, I know you got some cash on you, just hand it over and we can all go home," whispered one of the boys, roughly shoving the other one to the wall.

From what Izuku could make out in the darkened alleyway, the perpetrator was about 180 centimeters in height, blonde with short-trimmed, tidy hair. He had a lean jawline, lips formed in a constant scowl. His right ear was pierced, a small but shiny dot present there. Wearing dark-blue jeans and a darkened leather jacket, he was an imposing sight. His target, not so much, Izuku had to admit.

The victim was much smaller in height, barely reaching 160 centimeters, his hair a chestnut brown color. His white shirt, which was previously neatly tucked into his pants, was ruffled and his pants stained from a fall to the muddy ground. To Izuku's surprise, he also adorned a challenging look.

"No way, man. Just go and work for it, how about that?" The victim yelled, lunging at his attacker with a raised fist. Izuku winced at his form. It was clear that he had no idea what he was doing, opting for a last-ditch attempt. The taller one read it with no effort at all and sidestepped it, allowing the smaller boy to hit himself to the opposite wall of the alley. Just as another punch was to be thrown, a voice surprised all three people present.

"Hey! Stop it!" Came the interruption and everyone stopped. No one was more surprised than Izuku himself, realizing that the voice was in fact, his own. When he thought about it, he had no idea what he was currently doing here or why and how he arrived at this location, much less why he was interfering. He pushed it to the back of his mind, instead choosing to focus on the situation at hand.

"Who the fuck are you, freak?" Came the voice of the perpetrator, issuing a challenge.

Izuku began to walk towards them. "Just leave it, please. It's not worth it, trust me," the ninth Holder offered, giving the teenager a way out.

It was declined. "Get lost, chump. I got some unfinished business here."

"What is your name, sir?" Izuku asked, hoping to throw him off.

"What are you, some kind of a fucking Mormon? The name is Jake, put it down when you're sending me a birthday card. Now, get lost." Was the final response from Jake. What he did not expect however was Izuku quickly covering the remaining ground between them and entering his personal space.

"I will ask you to stop and leave, now. Please." The green-haired teenager implored. His answer was a sudden, furious punch attempt at his face.

His training kicking in, Izuku reacted. Even without the use of _One For All,_ a quirkless, untrained human was no match for an elite student of UA Academy who had numerous previous encounters with dangerous quirkedindividuals. Grabbing the thrown right arm at the wrist, he first stopped its momentum and gave it a short but firm twist, effectively rendering it harmless. The hand was bent at a reverse ninety degrees and with it down went Jake, falling to his knees in equal amounts of pain, surprise, and confusion.

"What the hell?" The blonde teenager yelled out, reacting by using his left free arm, throwing a punch, this one being sloppy.

Izuku reacted by giving the right wrist he held another twist, disabling any will and ability of Jake's to complete the attack with his left arm. It fell limply to his side. Jake exhaled a couple of times in a hurry and finally looked into the eyes of the new arrival.

Izuku was calm, calmer than he had been in a long while, he realized. His eyes were clear of any doubt, instead filled with purpose and the will to act. He felt, without a flicker of uncertainty, _alive._

"The fuck, man? You gonna break my arm or some shit?" Jake managed to chew out through gritted teeth, obviously in pain.

"No. I will let you go if you go away quietly." The ninth Holder replied. The hesitant nod was enough for him. Letting the bent wrist go, Izuku took a few steps back. Jake stood up and rubbed his wrist a few times, trying to get the blood flow back in. He also slowly started walking, giving the unknown person a wide berth. The green-haired boy in turn followed him with his eyes. After he was about 3 meters away, Izuku turned to the victim of the whole ordeal.

From the whole selection of classes that were available at UA, one of them had always struck closely with Izuku. That was entry-level Psychology. There they had learned that one of the most common mistakes Heroes could make was to turn their backs to an enemy they had deemed attained or incapable of action. This would oftentimes result in them being struck from the back.

If a Hero knew this though, they could effectively use it as a counter-attack measure. Allowing the foe to carelessly charge was the perfect opportunity to completely render them useless. He was sure Jake would take that gamble judging by his hands which were curled into fists. As soon as Izuku exposed his back to him though, he stopped. To the ninth Holder's surprise, Jake relaxed his posture and promptly turned around, walking away.

Finally focusing on the person he saved, the green-haired boy offered him a hand since he had fallen down to the ground while observing the brief scuffle. Izuku plastered a well-earned, honest smile on his face and uttered the words he inherited. "It's okay, I am here."

* * *

Izuku walked back towards the police station at a slow pace, deep in his thoughts. The conversation with the civilian he had saved had gone a little bit differently than he had anticipated. Instead of the relieved smile and the tears he expected, like people's reaction to getting saved by All Might, this particular individual had laughed at his words. Although he calmed down afterward and thanked him profusely for saving him from getting robbed, getting giggled at was embarrassing. The kid had even offered to buy him ice-cream to express his gratitude, but Izuku had declined, thinking that Paul would probably be expecting him by now.

Before they departed, the kid gave him his name. Sebastian was not a citizen of the small town, instead being here for a small vacation trip with his family. He had written down his number on a small piece of paper he got out from his bag that was previously discarded by the garbage and handed it to him, telling him to call if he ever needed anything. Sebastian regained his composure, fixed his attire, shook his hand with a last 'thank you', and wished him farewell.

Glancing at the setting sun, Izuku could not help but smile. The heavy feeling of dread and hopelessness had suddenly lifted upon doing work he had dreamed of doing since he was a little boy. The satisfaction was indescribable to him.

One thing the ninth Holder could not figure out was how he had gotten involved in the first place. The sudden pain in his head and the seemingly unintended actions were _definitely_ weird. Maybe he could ask the vestiges about it.

Before long, Izuku arrived at the police station. Paul was out front, having a cup of coffee with who seemed to be Sheriff Barry. Seeing him, he started waving.

"Hey, Izuku! What the hell kiddo, did you get lost or something?" Paul questioned, a small grin breaking through his lips.

Izuku rubbed the back of his head, acting embarrassed. "Yeah, thankfully I asked around and managed to take care of the shopping list. Here you go." He offered the bag. At Paul's nod towards the truck, the green-haired youth made his way to it to drop it off.

"Barry told me that there is no news yet. Sorry, Izuku. We will check again next week, that okay?" Paul told him. The ninth Holder nodded, already expecting such an answer. Opening the passenger seat door, he climbed in and waited.

Suddenly, an idea came to him.

 _'If rescuing someone helped me feel better about myself, maybe I should just focus on what I am good at, helping people.'_ He thought, mind buzzing.

_'Then, what about...'_

"Well there, kiddo, I have a proposition for you. You see, I have been meaning to ask you something. Would you be interested in helping me out at my private prop-"

"Paul, can we go see the mayor?" Izuku interrupted him, not even realizing that he was being spoken to.

Paul's eyebrows disappeared into his hat. "The mayor? What do you need from Mr. Sleigh?"

Izuku grinned. What better way was there to rekindle his heroic acts than to return back to his roots?

"I want to clean up the Lumber Lake!"

* * *

**Hey there!**

**So kind of a smaller update in comparison to the third chapter, but I have some really big plans for the next one.**

**Let me know what you guys think in the reviews! I read every single one with love!**

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there fellow fans of Vampire Diaries and My Hero Academia!
> 
> I am aware of the fact that this is quite the unusual choice for a crossover, but this idea has been gnawing at my mind for quite some time and I just wanted to put it out there to easy up my consciousness. Since I am not that experienced writing any kind of fiction, I welcome any kind of feedback from our loving community.
> 
> This fanfic will start out slow with some worldbuilding and I will try my best to let it grow in a way that feels organic and natural. I am not yet sure if I will follow every one of VD canon events, but I will mostly try to stick to the timeline. Naturally, it will include a fair amount of OC's, but i will try to keep the amount to an absolute minimum.


End file.
